


drafted

by jamesbuchanan



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Established Relationship, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2016-10-20
Packaged: 2018-08-23 16:05:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8333866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesbuchanan/pseuds/jamesbuchanan
Summary: Bucky receives his draft notice January 22, 1942. There are two problems with this.One: he has to tell his parents.Two: he has to tell Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! ok so basically this is what happens when i have to read _the things they carried_ for english class and get dragged back into my love for history...and my love for bucky...and the first avenger. so combine those things together and thus this is born!
> 
> enjoy♡

Bucky Barnes receives his draft notice January 22, 1942.

He and Steve had their names thrown into the lottery by the end of December and for a while Bucky hoped that he’d dodge the bullet, if only because he knew if he got selected, he was going to war alone. Bucky Barnes is not stupid. He knew from the moment the news of Pearl Harbor sparked on the radio and Steve got that look in his eyes, that determined, spitfire look, that Steve wanted to serve. But Bucky knew from the start: Steve was not getting drafted or accepted upon enlistment.

Steve’s health, physique, his _asthma_ already ended his chances before they could begin. What he learns, is that like just like everything else Steve sets his mind and heart to, this is no different.

So what is Bucky to do but to watch Steve sink into that little bubble of his and surround himself in ways to get himself fit and healthy enough to join the army. The only problem? Steve’s little bubble doesn’t seem to have enough room for Bucky, and Bucky’s not sure if he wants it to. He doesn’t want to help Steve get enlisted because he knows better than the two of them that Steve’s safer in Brooklyn. However, helping him means that Steve pays more attention to him than usual, and that’s what breaks Bucky most.

It wasn’t hard to see Steve’s affection start to fizzle. Mere days after they got the news from the radio Steve had only focused on his health and his job at the library and nothing else. He ignored his sketchbook, which Bucky knows he loves so much, as well as Bucky, which he knows Steve loves even more.

It wasn’t easy to agree to go with Steve to the gym and help him train for reasons Bucky knew were fruitless. But the topic had come up one night after Bucky had spent an hour between his legs, making him cry out sweetly and euphorically, showing some signs of Steve before his army fixation. Steve Rogers is not stupid, and he picked his timing for the question carefully, knowing that there’d be no way Bucky would say no to him after letting him handle Steve so soft and slow like they used to, before all Steve wanted was fast and rough. So when Steve asks Bucky to take him down to the boxing gym to train him, whispering it into his neck, Bucky can’t help but say yes as not to risk Steve going cold in his arms and ignoring him for the rest of the night.

It’s sad that this is how things seem to go. Bucky helps Steve try and get some muscle on him, still tends to him when he gets sick, makes a comment or two when Steve looks too worn out, but nothing more.

Steve’s affection withers while Bucky’s only continues to bloom. Bucky’s not sure what he’s supposed to do with that besides go along with it and hope that it changes.

Bucky considers himself lucky that he’s alone when he gets the letter. (He’d rather not have Steve peering over his shoulder as he read through it the first time; that’d only bring on a fight and a half from the scrawnier boy and Bucky just doesn’t have the fight in him to argue. Not as of recently.) He’d plucked the mail from the box downstairs, set on starting on dinner for when Steve got back from his shift at the library. When he tosses the mail on the kitchen table, he does a double take at the sight of an official looking stamp on the letter at the top of the stack. At the sight of it, Bucky’s entire game plan changes for the evening.

His stomach sinks the more he looks at it. At the forefront of his mind, he’s confused as to what the letter is, but deep down he knows exactly what it is and he feels like he might throw up. Slow and shaky, he tugs his thumb along the top of the envelope until it’s ripped open, carefully pulling out the paper resting inside. One glance at the header and his mouth goes dry.

He sinks down into one of the chairs at the table and reads over the letter again, pushing a hand through his hair. For a moment, he believes if he stares long enough, the words will warp and tell him he hasn’t been selected— or even better: that the war’s over. No matter how many times he reads though, the words remain the same and tell him the exact same thing.

The clock on the wall in front of him lets him know Steve is going to be home soon. If Steve sees the letter, he’ll freak out. If Steve notices Bucky’s attitude being off in just the slightest, he’ll get curious and not necessarily in a good way. At the thought of that, Bucky knows what he has to do. He spends the next few minutes steadying his breathing while looking for a pen and paper. Once he’s calmed down enough, he scrawls down the date, time, location of where he’s supposed to be. Carefully, he folds the small slip of paper and puts it in his coat pocket. He’ll take it to his ma’s house tomorrow morning to break the news to his family. Keeping the information there will buy him more time until Steve eventually finds out; because whether he wants to or not, he _knows_ Steve is going to find out.

He grabs the letter, stands, and strides to the stove. Once he’s got one of the burners going he holds the letter to the flame, envelope and all, and watches it burn to ashes between his fingers. Quickly, he cleans up the mess left behind and then it’s like the notice never existed at all. The twisted, sickening feeling in Bucky’s gut begs to differ.

Steve gets back half an hour later. Bucky’s still in the kitchen, standing in front of the counter cutting up some vegetables and listening to the radio to calm his nerves. He swallows dryly when he hears the door shut and Steve hang up his coat and slip off his shoes. As Steve’s footsteps come closer and closer to the counter where Bucky’s standing, he does his best to relax his body and put on his most casual smile.

Thin arms make their way around his waist and Bucky sighs softly, grateful for the contact. He can feel any tension from the last hour start to slowly dissolve. Steve hooks his chin over Bucky’s shoulder, “Whatcha makin’, Buck?”

One side of Bucky’s mouth turns up in a lopsided smile. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

He presses a quick kiss to the side of Bucky’s neck and lets go, moving away so he can lean against the empty counter space to look at Bucky’s face as he talks. Bucky can feel the anxiousness pooling in his gut, but he tries his best to come off calm.

Steve can spot the furrow in his brows even though he hadn’t realized he’d been doing so. “Was work okay?” Pure curiousness; unsuspecting. And there’s the out Bucky needs. He can blame his stress and nervousness on that.

“Yeah,” he says softly, “think I could get you to give me a massage later? Did a lot of heavy lifting today,” he tacks on at the end, just to sell the lie as best he can.

“Depends,” Steve pretends to think, “come down to the gym with me tomorrow so I can get in a few rounds and these are all yours,” he smirks, wiggling his fingers.

Bucky’s fingers twitch slightly at Steve’s words, but if Steve noticed it he says nothing. He knows what Steve’s doing, he does it all the time now to get what he wants but Bucky can’t say no to him. He gives Steve his best playful smile and says, “You got it, Rogers.”

At that, Steve beams and sadly, Bucky can’t appreciate it as much as he usually does.  
   
*  
   
When Bucky heads over to his ma’s the next morning, he almost turns right back around and goes home when he reaches the block of the house. He has to do this though, no turning back. If he keeps it from his family he’ll wind up telling Steve and he’d rather tell his family first over him, if only because he knows a little too well how Steve’s reaction is going to be. (He knows that’s a ticking time bomb though; only problem is that he’s running out of time to defuse it, if he can find a way to do it at all.)

With a few shaky breaths, he holds his ground and walks down the block, fits clenching and unclenching. He ignores his shaking hand as he rings the bell and practices his best smile.  
“James!” His mother exclaims when she pulls the door open. She lights up at the sight of him and it only makes what Bucky’s about to tell her that much harder.

He smiles warmly and pulls her into a loving embrace. “Hey, Ma,” he greets, holding her tightly for a few moments before pulling back. She steps aside and lets him in, shutting the door behind them.

“How’ve you been, honey? How’s Steve?” She asks as they walk through the house and towards the kitchen. His father is sitting at the table sipping his coffee, his sisters nowhere to be seen.

“I’m fine, Ma, so is Steve. Everything’s alright.” Yet, everything really isn’t okay in Bucky’s head. He stutters when he sees his father, but eventually continues on, smiling when they make eye contact.

“Hey, kiddo,” his father greets warmly, setting his mug down on the table. “You look tired, went dancin’ last night?” He jokes.

Bucky shakes his head and huffs a laugh. “Not this Friday,” he quips, watching his mother move towards the stove, probably to get Bucky a mug of coffee. “You don’t gotta pour me any coffee, Ma, I’m fine,” he says softly. He stalls a bit more before he says the one thing he’s been dreading since he walked through the door. “Actually, could you sit down? There’s something I have to tell you.” She turns towards him, looking confused, and Bucky can feel his heart threatening to crack clean in two. _Christ, this is gonna crush her_ , he thinks.

His mother doesn’t question him until she sits down, looking over at his father who’s equally as curious as to what Bucky has to tell them. He sits down in front of them, wringing his hands together before placing them in his lap.

“Are the girls home?”

“Upstairs,” his father says.

“Alright, good. I don’t want ‘em to know about this yet.”

He can feel his mother staring at him, even though his eyes are glued to the hardwood of the table. Taking a deep breath, he finally says it. “I uh… I got my draft notice last night.”

When he chances a look up, he finds his mother looking at him as though she might not have heard him correctly.

“Say that again, James?” His father says calmly.

“My draft letter. I’m gonna fight in the war, Dad.”

He can already see the tears starting to form in his mother’s eyes and there it is, there’s the sound of his heart breaking.

“That’s great, son. It’s great you’re gonna fight for the country.” He sounds proud of Bucky, but his voice is still too calm.

“Yes, James, it's great,” his mother joins in, but her voice wavers. “When are you leaving?”

Bucky reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out the slip of paper he wrote on the night before. “Here,” he says, sliding it across the table to them. “I still have a month and a half.” His parents are staring at the paper longer than Bucky’d like and it makes him feel uneasy. “The letter is at my place,” he lies, “but I wanted you to have the date. Can I leave that here?” he points at the paper weakly.

“Of course, honey,” his mother says instantly.

“Please don’t tell the girls, not yet,” he says quietly, ducking his head. His palms are sweaty and he wedges them between his thighs. “I’ll come over for dinner every Sunday, stop by as much as I can, I promise.”

“We won’t tell them unless you want us to,” his father says.

Bucky nods to himself. “I’ll tell them next time I come by.”

His parents look towards each other and then back at him, giving him sad smiles. Bucky wants to stay, wants to sit down on the couch and call his sisters down from their rooms, let them make him laugh like they always do, and stick around for dinner because he misses his ma’s cooking so much, but he can’t. He promised Steve the gym this afternoon since he doesn’t have to work today. He tells his mother and father as much and they nod in understanding.

When Bucky rises from his chair so does his father, pulling Bucky in for a tight hug while clapping a hand across his shoulder as he pulls away. “Take care of yourself, Bucky,” he tells him. He doesn’t follow Bucky to the door, just watches him leave and goes back to his coffee. If he stares at it more than he actually drinks it, that’s for him to know and for Bucky to keep to himself.

It’s harder to say goodbye to his mother. She walks him to the door and stands in the doorway while he stands on the other side. Her eyes are wet and red, but she hasn’t let one tear slip from her eyes. Bucky can feel the same anxiousness from the night before in his stomach again and all he can do is step back through the door and hug his mother as tightly as he can. He buries his face in her neck and that’s when he hears her let out one sniffle.

“Don’t cry, Mama, please don’t cry,” it comes out as a whisper. He knows she’s crying for the same reason why he keeps preventing himself to. Because Bucky knows that once he ships out, he’s more than likely not coming back to Brooklyn, back to his family, back to Steve. Her tears voice his worst thought: he is going to die. Truth be told that’s all he’s been thinking about since the letter appeared in his mailbox; that’s where all his anxiety has been stemming from in the past 24 hours.

He moves so he can look his mother in the eye and wipe away a stray tear. “Don’t cry for me. I’m not leaving yet,” but when he says it, it’s not nearly as steady as he hoped it’d be.

His mother sniffs again, but composes herself. She shakes a finger at him. “You just listen to me young man, you come over for dinner tomorrow. No excuses,” but there’s no roughness to her words.

“I’ll be there,” Bucky promises. She hugs him one more time and with a final goodbye, a see you soon, and a kiss on the cheek, Bucky’s gone.

He doesn’t go home right away. He stops at the diner on the corner on his way home and orders a coffee to steel his nerves.

He doesn’t leave for at least an hour, when the anxiousness in his gut has finally decided to subside, if only for a few hours. Regardless, Bucky’s grateful that the feeling’s gone for the rest of the walk home.

Steve’s not all that upset when he comes back late afternoon. He just smiles, gives him a quick kiss on the lips, grabs his coat and leads them towards the subway.  
   
*  
   
“You know I love you right?”

“Hm… If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re trying to butter me up for something, Barnes.”

It’s later that evening, they’re curled up in Steve’s bed, his head tucked under Bucky’s chin. He traces small circles along Steve’s spine. He inhales the scent of soap and Steve, turns his head to press a kiss to Steve’s hair.

“Not butterin’ you up for anything, just wanna make sure you know.” This should be the sentence that puts Steve on high alert, it should make his brows crease and sit up in bed to ask Bucky what’s going on, but it doesn’t. For this Bucky is lucky, probably because he’s always asking Steve that question; always wants Steve to know how much he loves him.

He presses a kiss to Bucky’s pulse point and Bucky practically melts at the touch. “Yeah,” Steve whispers, “I know.”

“Good.” He sighs before silence captures them, and Bucky’s mind starts to race. All of the day’s thoughts come crashing back like a violent wave. As much as he tries to hold it off, he can’t.

Steve’s tracing an idle pattern along Bucky’s collarbones. “What are you thinking about?” he asks eventually.

It pulls him out of his head immediately. “What do you mean?” He says it a little too quickly.

“You tensed up,” Steve says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Internally, he winces; here it comes. “What’s wrong?” His voice is calm and still so unsuspecting. It’s starting to make Bucky tick.

“Guess I’m still stressed about work.” The lie comes easier than he’d thought it would, but he goes with it. He knows Steve doesn’t buy it, but he doesn’t say anything about it which is worse than if he did. This is the start of a slow buildup, until Steve finally cracks, which’ll make Bucky crack and then they’ll be arguing over nothing until Bucky fesses up to what’s bothering him. It’s a new game, one he’s not fond of playing, but he really can’t find any other solution besides just telling Steve he got his draft letter and he’s not doing that. Not yet.

Steve gives him a silent “Alright,” and they fall into silence again. It’s worse than listening to Steve try to coax the problem out of Bucky and he hates it.

When he feels like he’s starting to drift, like he can finally put the day to a rest and turn his brain off for a while, he feels Steve kiss his neck again.

“I love you too, y’know. Sorry I haven’t really shown it as much.”

Upon hearing the words, Bucky has to bite his lip and squeeze his eyes shut so he doesn’t do something stupid like cry. He holds Steve tighter and shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize,” he chokes out. Steve yawns over him and misses Bucky’s tone. “I know what’s in your head and I get it. I’m trying to help you out, Steve.”

He snuggles in close, burying his face in the crook of Bucky’s neck; a safe spot of sorts. “I don’t mean to ignore you.”

“You don’t—“

“Stop that,” he says sharply.

Bucky sighs. “It’s not as bad as you think it is. Just step outta that hard head of yours every now and again.”

“Could say the same for you.” It could be the start of a bitter argument if Steve wanted it to be. Bucky’s not going to let it happen, not tonight.

“Steve, please. I don’t wanna argue with you.” He doesn’t sound like he’s begging, but silently, in his head, he is.

“I know…m’too tired anyway,” he chuckles lowly.

It makes Bucky smile. “Get some sleep, Steve.”

He feels Steve settle a bit more against him and eventually drift off. He holds Steve close and lets sleep finally find him.  
   
*  
   
Bucky’s been smoking a lot more than usual lately.

Occasionally, he could use a good smoke after Sunday dinner, sneaking out onto the fire escape or towards the back window to blow smoke out into the evening air. Now he seems to do it whenever he can, but not because he’s addicted to the nicotine. He uses it to calm his nerves which seem to be all over the place since the night he got the letter.

Like everything else, Steve takes notice to this too. In fact, he'd even gotten annoyed by it at least two times. The first when Bucky couldn’t sit still while Steve tried to sketch him, the second after they’d had sex and Bucky couldn’t get his nerves under control.

Steve comes home one night earlier than Bucky’d expected. Bucky's sitting by the window in the kitchen, listening to the soft jazz trickling through the radio on the counter. There’s a thin cloud of smoke around him, but most of it flows out the window. He doesn’t notice Steve’s come into the kitchen until he hears him start coughing.

“Christ, Buck, put that out before I have an attack.” He coughs harshly into his elbow as Bucky quickly grinds out his cigarette and shuts the window.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Steve. I just needed it to—“

“Calm your nerves, yeah I know,” he rolls his eyes at Bucky. “Why? What’s got you so worked up?”

Bucky shakes his head, making his way towards the bathroom so he can shower and rid himself of the smell, silent the entire way.  
Steve’s right on his heels. “Seriously, Bucky. You’re practically chain-smoking and you never do that. Tell me what’s wrong.” And this has gotta be it, this has to be the start of the breaking point. It’s finally here and Bucky can’t escape it now.

He makes it all the way to the bathroom door before he turns and presses his back to the wood, clutching the doorknob in his left hand. “Can I shower first? I’ll explain everything when I get out.” Steve raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms across his chest, stifling coughs. Bucky continues, “Get some water, take some deep breaths. I won’t be long.” Usually, that wouldn’t be enough for Steve, but he knows Bucky’s right and that he needs to get the scent off him before Steve has an asthma attack that they have no medicine for besides practiced breathing exercises. So he lets Bucky go with a nod, an eye roll, and not another word.

Despite what he said, Bucky takes a while. He’s stalling and he knows it, but he needs some time to collect his thoughts and more importantly think of what he’s going to tell Steve. He promised him an explanation, the only question is: does he tell him the truth or try his hardest to fabricate a lie that Steve will actually believe?

He washes up twice just to make sure the smell is gone and shuts his thoughts off along with the shower spray. He’s slow in drying the water dripping down his forehead, chest, arms, and stares at his reflection in the mirror until the steam evaporates and he can clearly see himself. 

He grimaces at the thought of seeing the face staring back at him in war. He doesn't have a soldier's face, maybe a soldier's body, but this is not what he wants. Anxiety begins to pool in his gut the longer he stares and the longer he thinks about this. There's no going back, he decides, he's telling Steve whether he wants to or not. He breathes in deeply, feels himself exhale shakily, and finally wraps the towel around his waist and heads out into the bedroom. Steve doesn’t bother him while he changes, in fact he doesn’t walk into the bedroom until Bucky’s actually dressed. Even then, he looks surprised Bucky’s even in the room.

“Funny, thought you’d be another couple hours,” he says flatly.

Bucky drops down on the side of the bed, resting his arms across his thighs. Arguing is not how he wants to start this conversation. He tips his head, gesturing for Steve to come closer. 

“C’mere,” he says softly.

Steve strides over, shoulders tense and eyes hard, plopping down right next to him, never once taking his eyes off of him. Bucky reaches over and slides his fingers up Steve’s wrist, twining their fingers. He wants so much to say, _You know I love you, right?_ but he knows if those words leave his lips, he’ll give himself away instantly.

“I’ve been stressed and anxious lately, I know I have—“

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“—and I’m sorry I didn’t say anything sooner.”

Bucky goes silent after that, trying to collect his thoughts, trying to find a way to say everything clearly. His fingers are still locked with Steve’s and he stares at them while Steve stares at the side of his head.

When he finally opens his mouth to speak, Steve beats him to it.

“Please don’t lie to me. Whatever you’re about to say— Please don’t lie.” His voice sounds so small and fragile then, it’s so out of the ordinary. This isn’t Steve’s demeanor in these kinds of conversations and that’s enough to scare Bucky all to hell. It’s like suddenly he’s back at his ma’s, sitting at the kitchen table, seconds away from breaking her heart.

Bucky untangles their fingers so he can rest his elbows on his knees, hunch over to hold his head in his hands. “I am so sorry. I am so incredibly sorry.”

He can practically feel Steve’s brows furrow, confusion coming off him in waves.. “Bucky, you’re freaking me out.”

“I got my draft notice,” he blurts out. He doesn’t realize he said it until moments later when his brain catches up with him and he feels Steve tense up at his side.

“…When did you get it?” he breathes out.

“Two weeks ago.”

Steve’s momentarily quiet, nodding to himself, his mouth a thin line. Bucky’s waiting for Steve to get angry with him, and with his next question, he can feel it coming closer and closer.

“When are you leaving?”

“A month.”

At this point, Bucky has enough common sense to remind himself that however mad Steve is about to get with him, it’s not at him, not totally. He knows for the most part, Steve is just going to be angry Bucky got a letter and not him, but some part of him wishes Steve would just get angry at him instead. He knows that’s not going to happen though.

“I knew there was something wrong with you, I fucking knew it. Why couldn’t you just tell me, Bucky? I don’t get it.” He sounds exasperated, untangling their fingers and smacking his hands against his thighs in frustration.

“Don’t play stupid,” Bucky snaps, even though he doesn’t mean to. Steve gives him a hard look at that. “Don’t try and make believe that you don’t know why I couldn’t tell you. This is the last thing I want you thinking about. I know what's in your head, I know what you're gonna try and do.”

“I’m going with you,” Steve says definitely.

Bucky scoffs. “I knew you were gonna do this. No.”

Steve repeats himself with a bit more force, but Bucky’s words are more forceful.

“You’re not going anywhere, Steve. You’re staying here," and now he can feel the anger rise in his chest. "You wanna help with the war effort so bad? I’ll help you find something to do from New York just so you’ll stop fuckin' worrying about this.” They’ve had this conversation too many times, and Bucky’s tired of it before the argument has even begun.

“If you’re laying down your life, I got no reason not to. I can’t let you go while I stay here.” Steve states his case firmly, like he’s done so many times before, but like always, Bucky doesn’t buy it.  
He grits his teeth. “You are staying here. You’re staying here so at least I can die knowing that you’re safe.”

Steve is quiet for a while, and for the time being, Bucky had thought he won the argument. He should know better than that. Steve finally speaks. “Excuse me?” He sounds disgusted and it peaks Bucky’s interest. He chances a look at him.

He’s absolutely seething, the fire in his eyes practically tangible. He shoves a bony finger at Bucky’s chest. “You listen to me and you listen good, Barnes. You’re not dying, get that shit outta your head. _Now_ I get it. You think you’ve got yourself a death wish, a fuckin’ death wish, but let’s get one thing straight: you’re not going to die. You’re coming back here. You’re coming back to your Ma, your Dad, your sisters, and me.”

Bucky’s already opening his mouth to retaliate, but Steve hardly gives him the chance.  
“I can't believe you— You don’t get to hold all of that up in your head for weeks and not tell me. What did you think? That you could keep all of this from me? You did pretty good for as long as you did, but I know you, Buck.” He laughs hollowly to himself, “You think me not going is gonna keep me safe…,” he places a hand on Bucky’s cheek, forces eye contact. “Remember the end of the line? I’m still with you ‘til it. You don’t die without me.”

Bucky’s hands are shaking. Frankly, he’s grateful for that because if his hands weren’t shaking he might be crying and he hates crying in front of Steve, in front of anyone.

He sighs in defeat, nuzzling Steve's palm. His eyes closed and his tone soft he says, “Steve, you don’t need to do this. Don’t go to war for me.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “I’m not, but I got no better reason to now.”

Bucky begs to differ, but he doesn’t. Any energy he had to argue is gone and he feels pretty empty. He supposes it’s better than having that gut wrenching feeling that hasn’t left him alone since the beginning of it all. So he says nothing and let’s Steve interpret that as a win. He also lets Steve move them so he’s flat on his back in bed, Steve curled up at his side. Bucky’s not too aware of what’s happening, but Steve’s not talking and he’s not arguing, and he doesn’t feel or look as angry as he did minutes ago so Bucky lets it be.

It’s surprising that Steve is as close as he is right now. Bucky knows under any other circumstance Steve would distance himself until he felt bad about it and apologized for his behavior. But Bucky doesn’t want to think, he just wants to be thankful. The only person he can’t afford to have upset with him doesn’t seem to be (because maybe Steve knows Bucky needs the contact, that he needs Steve here with him.) He might end up realizing that he might want it the other way around.

He wraps an arm around Steve’s shoulders and tucks him in closer. “You know I love you, right?” he chokes out. His tone is not silenced by a yawn this time.

“Mhm.” It’s a quiet hum, right against his skin and Bucky feels it more than he hears it. It holds less enthusiasm though, and that’s what kills Bucky most. Steve’s just replying that way because he knows it’s what he wants to hear. The answer is there but his head is somewhere else and deep in Bucky’s bones he feels their downfall. This is only going to eat Steve up and Bucky wishes he never told him; wishes he never got that stupid fucking letter in the first place.  
He knows this is going to ruin them, and now he has no way of stopping that. It's enough to make the anxiety come rushing back, but then Steve's fingers are making their way to his collarbones, repeating a soft motion back and forth and lulling Bucky's nerves. He knows Steve's not really there with him in the moment, but he's there enough to keep him calm.

He gives his final and only try to pull Steve out of his head, like Steve’s been trying to do to him for weeks. “I’m going to dinner at my Ma’s tomorrow. I think you should come. She’d love to see you.”

His fingers stop. “I’ll be there, Buck,” he says around a yawn, and Bucky knows he’s got him. His movements start up again as lazy as they are.  
 “Good,” he concludes. He pulls Steve closer and kisses his cheek. “Don’t worry about what I said, okay? I won’t be able to sleep knowing your brain’s all over the place.” _Leave that part to me_ , he thinks internally.

“Mmh, okay,” he says, and once again he’s not there, but not because he’s thinking, mostly because he’s sleepy. Bucky can feel him slip off until finally he’s not conscious at all. Soft fingers rest against his collarbone, but it feels like they're weighing him down into a much needed sleep. He’s not sure whether it was a good thing to tell Steve the truth or not, but the nagging voice at the back of his head—the one that sounds like Steve—tells him that it’s not, and that worries him.

It’s then that it occurs to Bucky he’s got something far worse coming to him than fighting the front lines.

It’s not his death he should be worried about.

No, no, he should be worried about the boy sleeping soundly at his side. The one whose love, so warm, and bright, and full, is about to turn cold and weak until it disappears. And there’s nothing Bucky can do to turn back time. All he can do is try his hardest to save it, save them, before there’s no time left for them at all.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](http://jerkrogers.tumblr.com/)


End file.
